


Shadow Master

by Kimmimaru



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Spies & Secret Agents, Turks - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 02:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8232404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimmimaru/pseuds/Kimmimaru
Summary: A series of drabbles (slightly related) about the Turks and what they get up to on the job and off.





	1. The Rain

Rain spatters the concrete, the sky bears down upon the giant metal city like a thick blanket. Grey clouds push the smog in close to the buildings, ShinRa tower rises so high its very top is invisible from the ground. People exit the huge building, popping open umbrellas as they step out into the deluge, a few look upwards with grimaces; their evening plans ruined by the unpredictable weather. The air is thick, heavy and difficult to breathe. The rain is warm as it splashes exposed skin, a little too acidic to be entirely natural so thick coats are worn despite the humidity. Below the feet of those ending their shifts at ShinRa Electric Power Company is another city entirely, here the rain only reaches through tiny cracks in the thick plates that support the main bulk of Midgar. It dribbles down the support pillars, it seeps below in drips and splashes bringing with it the taint of mako from the pipelines it encounters on its way.

Sector Four, a place of shadows and fear. There's a bar, one of the few that could sustain itself when too few potential patrons have too little money. Its sign has long since worn away, its real name forgotten along with the names for the sectors, now it's simply called the Watering Hole. Its roof is made of corrugated metal, the drips from above are loud in the heavy silence, echoing through the place like death knells. 

There's five patrons this evening, two of whom are currently sitting at a pitted, scarred little table off to the side. The table has an excellent view of the room and all the doors leading out of it. Hands curl around chipped glasses, ice clinks in the quiet and adds to the dull thud of rainwater on the roof. One man lifts his hand, signals the nearest waiter who rushes over with the sort of sycophantic bow one would expect from a high class upper-plate establishment. The waiter thinks it looks classy, it only looks tacky here. The patrons glass is refilled and the man bustles off to serve another. Again the ice clinks, the rain drips and the silence elongates until finally one of the men clears his throat. His fingers are long, elegant, but his nails are chipped and cracked. He shakes as he brings the glass to his lips, leaving a smear of red paint on the rim, lipstick, not blood which would not be uncommon in this part of town. His wrists are thin, too thin. His arm is encased in a single silver bangle, unmarked save for a single scuff on its polished surface. It's gaudy and unnatural in such a setting but it marks him as a man of a certain profession; an escort, a whore. His face is filthy, a fine sheen of dust and mud covers what would otherwise be flawless skin. His eyes are long, lashes dark and thick as he lowers them to watch his unsteady fingers curl around the glass. Blue, his irises are the colour of faded denim. They're bright, almost too bright and sharp as they move slowly around the room, observing every single detail and soaking it all up like a sponge. The man's hair falls in front of his eyes as he drops his head, it's difficult to discern the exact colour but it may have once been fire-hydrant red. He sips the glass again, making a face, lips twisting downwards in displeasure before they move to form words; “He's weakenin'.” He whispers, voice like gravel as if he hasn't used it in a while. He replaces his glass on the table and lifts his eyes to meet the other man's. “Makin' mistakes, we'll have him soon enough. He'll give himself away, I can see it, yo. 'bout bloody time.” His accent fits the space they inhabit; it's rough, it's lazy and authentic. 

The other man holds himself with a certain dignity, his long hair, as black as midnight, is tied painfully back from his forehead. He wears a coat with a single patch on the elbow, but it's a coat of good quality. His finger nails are perfectly manicured, hands elegant, his entire being poised and distinguished. There's a flash of white at his throat, a starched collar with a silver pin through it. It's difficult to discern what the pin is, perhaps some sort of insignia. He could be some gangster from another sector, or he could be an upper-plater, come below to experience the underworld first hand. One things for certain, he's older than the other by quite a few years. “What's your intel so far?” He asks under his breath, eyes lingering on the condensation on the rim of his glass. He runs a fingernail along it, watching the drops become dislodged and start to trickle downwards in imitation of the rain far, far above them.

The red-head coughs, it's a guttural sound, the sound of someone who's either very sick or soon going to be. He shudders and finally manages to speak; “Rainer Gatiss, he's his right hand. Does all the dirty work so Wu's hands're clean, yo. No one can do nothin' Gatiss don' hear abou'.” He clears his throat again and winces, causing the other man's eyes to snap up to his. The man waves him off but both of them can see the red stain left on his skin, this time it's not the last traces of the lipstick but most definitely blood. “I got 'im ta gimme the dirt while he was f-fuckin' me 'gainst a wall-” He breaks off into another fit. The dark haired man reaches into his coat pocket and hands over a handkerchief which the other accepts gratefully. “He's gotta loose tongue when he's really inta it.” He finally manages, grinning weakly. He's pale, sickly and in the dim light of the bar the dark haired man can see the slightly yellowish tinge to his skin. It's not healthy.

“We're pulling the plug.” The man says abruptly, “I'll call in Rude, he can-”

“No!” The red-head snatches the other man's coat in a movement that's too fast to see. The other patrons lift their heads momentarily to watch until the dark haired man grabs the others wrist and pushes his hand back down to the table. “Don' pull me on this, I been workin' these ass-holes for a year damn it.” He insists, leaning closer, reaching out to entangle their fingers together as if they are lovers. Continuing the pretence of whore and client. “A few more days...tha's all I need.”

“Looking at you you don't have a few more days, Reno. I'm pulling the plug on this operation.”

“I'm close, boss! Jus'-jus' hear me-ou-” He coughs again, wincing as the sound rattles his chest. He wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his colourless shirt. “I'm still clean, Tseng, gimme five days, yo an' I'll ge' wha' ya need.”

Tseng observes his colleague, his face impassive as he reaches out with his free hand and picks up his drink. He sips, face remaining stoic even as the harsh alcohol stings his throat and warms his chest. “I cannot condone what you're sacrificing...however, I understand your desire to finish this.”

“Do wha' ya gotta do jus' let me have my chance, yo.” The red-head coughs into his fist, wincing as his breath rattles. 

“The second this operation is complete, I want you in the hospital.” Tseng demands, rising smoothly from his chair and dragging Reno with him. He pulls him close, breath ghosting over Reno's face and forcing a shudder from him. “Do not compromise this, do you understand?”

“Loud n' clear, sir.” Reno smirks, a flicker of his old fire showing through the mask he wears.

They leave the bar, stepping out into the darkness beneath the green and yellow lights that blink from above, a twisted imitation of the stars most slum denizens have never even seen. They part without words.

XXX

“Chen Wu thinks he's duped us, he doesn't suspect a thing.” Tseng reports, standing before his bosses desk with his hands folded neatly at the base of his spine. He's clad once more in the familiar lines of a well-cut suit, hair immaculate as ever and dark eyes unreadable. “Reno's got his Right Hand wrapped around his pretty cock.” He says.

“Name?”

“Raina Gatiss.” Tseng watches Veld's back, he's stood before a huge picture window that gazes out across Sector Five. However, tonight, the clouds obscure everything. Finally Veld turns, seeing his second's face for the first time that evening. He's tense, although hiding it well, something's wrong.  
“What happened?”

“Reno's sick, sir. He was coughing when he reported in. There was blood on the handkerchief I gave him.”

“Should we sanitize the operation?” Veld raises an eyebrow, awaiting Tseng's judgement.

“No sir. Reno says he's clean.”

Veld nods, returning to the view. “Then we wait. Give him a week, then we end this with or without Reno's consent.”

“Sir.” Tseng bows his head, pony tail sliding over the back of his neck.

XXX

The room is dark, the only light source comes from the flickering neons of Wall Market through the windows of the Inn. Reno huddles on the bed, wrapped in stinking, itching blankets as he shudders through yet another violent coughing fit. Somewhere nearby he hears the rustling of Raina Gatiss, Chen Wu's right hand, as he dresses himself for the nights work. “You should get that looked at, Logan.” He says, voice cool and distant, he doesn't really care one way or the other. He's just some random whore he picked up and took in, he couldn't see a body and face like that wasted on scum. 

“'m fine, yo. Jus' a cold is all.” The boy replies, smirking as he rolls over in the bed and looks at Raina. “Where ya goin'?” He pouts in disappointment as Raina dresses himself in his usual purple suit and olive green shirt. 

“Chen's got work for me.” He replies, shrugging. “You can wait here for me to come back.”

“Sure, better n' bein' out there.” Logan nods towards the window, reminding Raina where he had got him from. 

Raina smiles, moves forward and cups Reno's pretty face in one palm. Gently he runs his thumb over his bottom lip. “You're burning up, better get some potions down you before it gets worse.”

“Sure, ya got any?”

“No.”

Reno turns away and coughs again, wincing and groaning as more pain is sent stabbing through his aching chest. “Shi'...can' afford none myself, yo.” He gasps.

Gatiss hums quietly, admiring Reno's fox-like beauty under all the grime. Reno lifts himself up onto his elbow, he leans in and kisses Gatiss, tongue darting out and tasting his lower lip. Gatiss groans but pulls away, “I have an important mission, something Chen can only entrust to me.” He says regretfully. Reno waits, he knows what's coming. It's what they've been waiting for. “He's arranging a meeting with the leader of the Crescent, I have to go and pass on the messages.”

Reno licks his lips, tasting blood. “Where ya gunna meet?” He asks, grabbing Gatiss' jacket and pulling him down on top of him. He keeps his voice casual, as if he doesn't really care one way or the other.

“A place on Fourth Alley. Called No Man's Land.”

Reno feels a jolt go through him and he smirks, “How long'll this meetin' go on for, yo?” He's been waiting a year, playing the poor whore and its been getting boring.

“Hm, could be several days, why?”

“Ya wan' some company?” Reno looks up into his face, his expression carefully blank. “I reckon I'd ge' pretty lonely without this,” He reaches between their bodies and cups Gatiss' cock through his rough spun pants. Gattiss groans at the contact and Reno smirks. “Ta keep me entertained.”

“Always the whore, huh? If I were to take you, would you expect to get paid extra?”

“You ain't payin' me, yo.” Reno reminds him, frowning in consternation as fingers tug at his greasy hair.

“That's true. Alright, you can come, just don't cause any trouble.” Gattiss captures Reno's lips with his own, Reno grins darkly.

Later the news reports that a leaky Mako pipe burst in the slums, the resulting explosion took out an entire street. ShinRa's Head of Public safety has assured all citizens that it was a one off and they were looking into mending all other pipelines for the future safety of Midgar's citizens. There were no survivors, which contradicts what many slum witnesses had seen. Only one man survived the resulting explosion, they saw him sliding like a snake out of the shadows by the alley a split second before the earth rumbled. They saw him pause before the entire night was lit up with green and gold flames behind him. They never saw the man's face but some speculate that he had red hair and wore a dark suit. No one goes to the media, no one dares because everyone knows what really happened.

The second Reno returns to Midgar Tseng forces him to go to the medical wing and be treated, he does not go quietly.

The Turks have their own private hospital, hidden on the only floor in the ShinRa building no one except them have access to. Not only is a certified key-card needed but two separate codes, these change on an hourly basis. Tseng enters the small sick-room, eyes moving to the only occupied bed. Reno lies on it, a drip in one arm, head resting on thin pillows. He's still pale and even from where Tseng stands he can easily see the bruises tracking up Reno's inner arm. A Turks job is dangerous, when they go under cover they do it properly. Reno's cover was a whore named Logan, a kid brought up on the streets and forced to sell his body for money. He was an addict, a drunk. Reno took to the part with ease, considering they chose the legends to fit in with Reno's real history. It's far easier to act when you know your role inside and out. Luckily, however, ShinRa has access to the best medical care on the planet, they have the money to cure the worst diseases and can even reattach limbs or replace them entirely with metal prosthetics with ease. The doctor looks up as Tseng moves closer, he's bent over Reno's charts, frowning and muttering to himself as he pushes a pair of spectacles further up onto the bridge of his nose. Tseng can smell his fear as he closes the distance on silent feet, his eyes flick to Reno's unconscious form before fixing back on the doctor. The question he wants answered doesn't need to be asked, the Doctor clears his throat and straightens his back; “His condition is improving daily.” He assures Tseng, “We've cleared his blood of all the drugs in his system, he'll have one hell of a hang-over when he comes around but even that will pass with time. His persistent cough did concern me, after some tests I discovered he suffered from a virulent form of Pneumonia. His white blood cell count was incredibly low. His liver was severely damaged from alcohol abuse, but we healed most of the damage with some magic, his own body will do the rest. At the moment he's on a cocktail of antibiotics to combat the virus as well as some heavy applications of Cure. He'll be back on his feet and back to work in three weeks. I would still recommend he goes through some light rehabilitation, the mixture of drugs in his blood was...impressive. Most people wouldn't have survived. ”

Tseng's eyes move to Reno who has tubes coming out of him like some sort of freakish monster, his skin is pale and he has dark circles under his eyes. “Reno is not most people.” He says, eyes remaining glued to Reno but he feels the doctor take an automatic step away. Everyone fears the Turks, even those few privileged enough to work directly with them.


	2. The Watcher

Veld sits in a chair, the room is dark except for the light from over a hundred monitors that splashes colour across his lined and scarred face. He picks up a mug of coffee and sips, sighing as he realises it's the bad stuff from the lounge. He frowns as voices chatter in his ear, one very distinctive rises above the others. He touches two fingers to his ear piece; “Reno, cut the shit. Keep the comm-lines clear.”

There's a crackle of static and a heavy sigh, “Alrigh' boss, I'm takin' my baby north.”

“There's nothing there.” Rude replies, obviously talking to Reno but his voice filters through anyway.

“There's nothin' for miles an' fuckin' miles 'cept sand an' those fucked up worm things, yo. They were spotted goin' west bu' wha' if it was a decoy or somethin'? I got a feelin'...somethin' ain't right 'bout the intel.”

Veld sips at his coffee, eyes on one monitor in particular. He sees Tseng standing in the shadows of a large building in Junon, awaiting a dead-drop. On another monitor Gun cleans up an assassination on LOVELESS Avenue, the blood-spattered cobblestones gleam black in the green light from the street lamps. Further to the left Katana sits in a cafe, sipping espresso and apparently reading a newspaper but his eyes haven't moved in an hour. He's watching, waiting.

“A decoy? It's possible. Chief, you got a visual?” Rude's deep voice enters Veld's ear piece and he nods to himself, dragging a keyboard towards him and tapping away at the keys. He brings up the satellite feed.

“Gold Saucer area, thirty degrees north/north-west. They're heading towards the mountains.” He picks up his coffee. “Reno's correct, they're going towards Costa Del Sol. Erase them before they get there, I don't care how you do it.”

Reno's titter is more than a little disturbing, “Got ya boss! Headin' ta intercept; ETA ten minutes.”

“Engage with discretion; try to avoid any civilian casualties, Reno.” Veld sighs and hears a huff even over the drone of helicopter blades. On the Junon monitor he watches Tseng pick up an innocuous suitcase that had been placed by a bench that looks out over the sea, his PHS buzzes and Veld picks it up.

“Package acquired, sir. Returning to HQ on the Gelinka.”

“Excellent, see that you get back before Reno and Rude.”

“Done.” Tseng hangs up and Veld goes back to watching Katana and listening idly to Reno's constant stream of chatter; he never did take heed of certain orders. Finally Reno laughs and the comm-line is interrupted by the familiar sounds of rockets being fired from a helicopter. Veld winces, pulling out his ear-piece momentarily while he waits for Reno to destroy the target.

From his chair Veld can see everything, the keyboard at his finger-tips gives him control over every camera in every ShinRa controlled city and town across both continents. He has agents scattered across the world, his spies control every piece of data in the building and they see everything. As he watches the Junon monitors, ignoring Reno's garbled celebration in his ear, he sees something move. At first he thinks it's a shadow as Tseng passes by an alley with his package, but in the next screen he sees it again. It's obvious now that someone is following Tseng. Veld snatches up his PHS and hits the speed dial. “Tseng, you've got company.” He says and watches his second-in-commands shoulders stiffen, he doesn't stop however, keeping up appearances as he wends his way calmly towards the air-strip where the Galinka awaits him. “I'll keep an eye on him but don't let your guard down, if they get hold of those plans...” He trails off, knowing Tseng understands.

The way the shadow moves, staying just out of sight of the cameras is somewhat familiar. Veld has seen it before, when he did a small stint in Wutai. “Ninja.” He warns Tseng who picks up his pace after checking his watch. “He's behind you, several feet back. Keep your eyes open...he's kind of small and moves like quicksilver.” He whispers, watching in awe as the ninja slips through the streets like they know them by heart. “What the hell are Wutai doing here?”

“Sir, how close?” Tseng's voice is so quiet Veld has a hard time hearing it.

“He's keeping his distance...looks like he's just watching for now.”

“I'm nearly at the air strip, he won't be able to get past security.”

“Let's hope so.” Veld hangs up and watches, shoulders tense and coffee forgotten.

“Target's destroyed, yo!” Reno's voice cuts through a burst of static. “Tha's wha' happens when ya try an' desert SOLDIER!” He cackles, Veld sighs and shakes his head still watching Tseng as he finally makes it to the airstrip, lifting his ID card for the soldier's guarding it to see. He's let through and the shadow hangs back. Odd, they didn't seem to be trying to steal the plans Tseng carried, despite the fact that they were for some new weapon Wutai was developing. 

“Headin' back ta base, yo.” Reno says in Veld's ear. “See ya in a few days.”

“Good, I want your report on Monday.”

Reno's groan is the last thing Veld hears before communication ceases, he smiles to himself taking another sip of his coffee, but it's gone cold.


	3. The Assignment

“Man, tha' new girl in Weapon's Dev is pretty fit, yo.” Reno leans against the water cooler, watching his partner pour himself a cold drink. Rude merely grunts as he takes a sip. “Oh yeah, I forge' ya like bigger tits. Me? I'm an ass man, yo. I like 'em round an' jiggly.” He bounces on his toes, and gives Rude a grin.

“Rufus' new secretary is kinda hot.” Rude replies, “Apparently she's fucking the old man though.”

“Pfft, we surprised? Old man ShinRa'll fuck anythin' with a hole between it's legs, yo. Everyone knows he's banged June Watson on fifth.” Reno tilts his head to one side, his hair falling into his eyes as he leans on the cooler with one elbow and cups his chin.

“June? She's sweet.” Rude hands his partner a plastic cup. “She bakes some nice cookies.” The cooler bubbles as Reno fills his own cup and downs it's contents.

“She ain't go' nothin' on Mrs Green down in the lobby, that woman's wasted down there I tell ya. She cooks like a dream. Gave me some o' her chocolate cake an' I almost died.”

“How'd you get Mrs. Green's chocolate cake? She hates everyone.”

“No' me, yo. I know how ta butter up the secretaries.” Reno's smirk is almost evil, his eyes twinkle as he remembers the cake. “Mmm. Wonder if she'll make it again? I could pretend i's my birthday.”

“You don't have birthdays.” Rude reminds him.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm a slum kid with no name an' no birth certificate.” Reno shrugs it off. “Bu' she don' know tha'.”

“Did you hear about Haram down in Engineering?”

“Wha's he done now?” They start to walk back to their offices, Reno slouching along with his hands in his pockets and Rude keeping a steady pace at his side. At this time in the morning the corridors are almost empty, everyone already hard at work. 

“Nearly blew up old man ShinRa with one of his new designs.”

Reno rolls his eyes dramatically, “How is tha' guy not fired yet?”

Rude shrugs, “Guess he's good at his job.”

“Reno, Rude,” Both men come to a halt to see Tseng sticking his head out of his office door, “Come in, the meetings about to start.”

'Meeting' is a bit of a stretch where the Turks are concerned. They don't do traditional meetings, not like company management. They sit around Tseng's desk, each in a chair of their own, while Veld sits behind the desk and gives them all an update on current events. Missions are handed out, files bearing faces of people already dead but unaware of the fact. Reno's given the order to go under the plate, sector five, and check up on someone. He sighs, although it's not a hard job he dislikes babysitting on principle. Nothing exciting really happens around Aerith, she's a sweet girl, a little like a baby sister he never had but it's boring. Rude's got a hit on some upper-plate dirt bag, guy with a grudge and a big mouth. Tseng's doing recon, some anti-ShinRa group's getting too big for its boots. Veld gives them all the speech; Get the Job Done No Matter What. And they leave, off to go about their various duties.


	4. The Flowers

Aerith's church is as silent as ever, it's stuffy, somewhat stifling and if Reno bothered wearing his tie he'd be pulling it down to get some air to his throat. He spots her long before she spots him, he stands between the pews, watching the girl tending the flowers and humming idly to herself. She's got dirt on her dress, her hands are caked in it and she seems so peaceful Reno doesn't really want to disturb her. She's pretty, he can see why Tseng's so hung up on her but for him she's too much like a sibling. There's not many years difference in age, Reno's older, he knows that much. He shifts his weight, deliberately pressing down on a creaky board, Aerith startles and looks up, green eyes growing wide for a second with fear before her features relax when she recognises him. Slowly she stands, wiping dirt off onto her white dress, she offers him a small smile and tilts her head. “Tseng not around?” She asks without offering a greeting.

“He's busy, sis.” Reno smiles, “How ya bin?”

“Hmm...ok.” She nods, hair bobbing and her smile widening deviously. “You going to help a girl out?” She knows better than to ask about Reno's day, still, it lingers in the air between them uncertainly. Aerith's afraid of ShinRa, they all know that but somehow, over the years they've managed to build something like a relationship with her. It's impossible not to like her, she's so gentle and tries very hard to see past the suits they wear to the men underneath. Only Tseng bothers to keep up the dangerous mystery of the Turks, he keeps his distance, he encourages Aerith's fear of him. Reno's convinced Tseng's simply afraid of what might happen if he gets too close; she's a job, it's sometimes hard to remember that. They're also all fully aware of what will happen when the president gives the order to capture her, for now Tseng's managed to continue putting Hojo off and Reno and Rude tend not to try too hard to capture her the few times they've been asked. It's rather easy to 'accidentally' give themselves away and give her a chance to run and hide.

Reno groans, tilting his head back and staring up through the small crack in the roof. “Ugh, fine. Ya know, you're kinda manipulative for a sweet girl, yo.” He gripes, moving towards her and crouching at the edge of the flower bed. 

She steps over to him and thrusts a trowel into his chest, knocking him back on his ass. Her smile is a picture of perfect innocence as she looks down at him. “I'm just good at getting what I need. Now, remember don't crush the flowers with your big feet.” She warns, thrusting a finger down at his boots.

“Hey! I don' go' big feet, yo! Tha's Rude. He's go' massive ones.”

“Yes but he's not as clumsy as you, Reno. Now, get on with it.” She gestures to the flowers and Reno scrambles to his feet.

As he works he listens to her humming, it's a pleasant sound and is accentuated by the high ceilings of the empty church. The earth feels rich and damp in his fingers, before he became a Turk he had never known that this was what healthy earth was supposed to feel and look like. He picks up a handful and runs it through his fingers, the smell is kind of pleasant too. It reminds him of the forests around Gongaga, where the trees grow huge and the ground is packed full of rotting foliage. He grasps at a weed, yanking it out and tossing it into a nearby bucket, it's got a hole in it and Reno wonders if Aerith needs another one. Tseng wouldn't begrudge her a gift. The work is tedious but being inside the church always makes him feel refreshed and somewhat cleansed, it's a strange feeling and one that makes him uncomfortable. His thoughts dwell on the smell of blood, the sound of the gun, the feel of his EMR cracking bone. He shivers, causing Aerith to look up at him curiously, he offers her a weak smile and returns his eyes to the flowers. The petals are soft and fragrant, there's a soft hum of insects as they take full advantage of the bounty presented to them. His gut starts to feel heavy, a strange feeling he only ever gets inside the church and around Aerith. He hates it, he knows what it is as he's had it described to him on more than one occasion but its a feeling he cannot afford to have as a Turk. So, he shoves it deep down, as far as it'll go. He locks it away along with the disturbed memories from a childhood fraught with fear and pain. It takes him a moment to realise that Aerith's hand is on his, he's been sat there, frozen with his fingers in the soil. “Reno?” Aerith asks uncertainly. Reno stands up abruptly, dislodging her fingers. She steps back, the old glimmer of fear settling into her eyes as her hands clasp at her chest.

“I gotta go, sis.” He manages in a relatively easy voice, he offers her a smile and her fear eases a little. “Anythin' ya need, jus' give us a call, yo.” He brushes his hands clean on his trousers and turns away, hearing Aerith sigh heavily. He leaves her in her little church, a place of peace and light and love; a place Reno will never belong.


	5. The Gun

Rude settles the rifle against his shoulder, bracing it. The barrel rests on its tripod as he takes a deep breath in, squinting down the sight. He sees the target, sitting as casual as can be in a small cafe and sipping expensive coffee. He looks, for all the world, like a man confident in his own safety. He's got guards posted at strategic points around him, each one a professional...however, none of them are looking up. The building opposite is condemned, obviously they think that no one was going to be insane enough to test the dodgy structure. Rude smirks to himself as he slowly lets out his breath, his finger squeezes the trigger and...

The target goes down in a spray of blood. People scream and suddenly there's chaos everywhere. The target's painted an abstract picture across the window of the cafe, blood and brain matter slides slowly down it as a waitress drops her tray. The target's men stand utterly still, completely confused as they're engulfed by screaming people. The press of terrified civilians gives Rude the time he needs to disassemble his gun, he stows it back in it's case and picks up his equipment. As hits go, this was damn easy and he looks forward to getting home and sharing a brew with Reno. He adjusts his tie and moves out of the room he was using and down the corridor. He takes the fire escape down, stepping incredibly lightly for such a heavy set man. He's left no sign of his presence behind, just as ordered. The hit had to be a clear warning without outright declaring ShinRa's involvement. When Rude's far enough away he digs out his PHS and gives Tseng a call, he gives him a brief, to-the-point report before hanging up again and wending his way back to Sector 0.


	6. The Violence

“Woah,woah! Where do ya think your goin'?”

Reno halts the target with his EMR, pressing it hard into the man's chest and sending him stumbling back a pace. He'd given them quite the run-around but he didn't seem to be aware of why Reno was the third best Turk in the company, it wasn't just his smarts, he was fast. Real fast. The man was panting, looking at Reno in utter disbelief, he had been behind him not ten seconds ago and now he was standing in front of him looking as if he'd just stepped out his door for a small stroll. Reno grins, teeth appearing in a flash of white as he shifts his weight and taps his EMR against his shoulder. “Look man, I ain't here ta run my ass ragged chasin' ya like some sort of fuckin' racin' chococbo. I wanna get this done an' get the fuck outta this shithole of a town, I'm sure ya understand. I got some serious drinkin' ta do an' a vacation ta take so jus' shut the fuck up an' listen real good.” Reno steps up to the man, crowding him back against a nearby dumpster. For all Kalm's pretty architecture it's the same as any other town and it's alleyways are littered with trash. Reno swings his EMR experimentally, the sound it makes when it swishes through the air is deadly. The man shrinks back, suit picking up the grime from the metal behind him. He cringes and whimpers as Reno moves in close, grabbing the man's jacket and throwing him bodily to the floor. “Ah shit, man...why ya gotta cry, yo? This is jus' pathetic.” Reno runs a hand through his hair and leans forward. “You wanna know why 'm here, yo?” He asks but doesn't bother waiting for an answer, “The Presiden' wants ta send ya a message, one a guy with shit for brains like you an' your stupid fat boss'll understand.” Reno smirks, eyes sparkling in the darkness. “Tell Corneo this from the Turks; don' try an' deal behind our fuckin' backs. We're watchin', even if ya can' fuckin' see us. Sneeze an' we'll know abou' it. Ya got that? Wanna write it all down, yo?” The man shudders and whines, Reno sighs heavily as if the man is just making his job all the harder. “Fine. I'll carve it inta your fuckin' chest.” He reaches into a back pocket and withdraws a small pen-knife, the blade flicks out and catches the moonlight. Reno advances on the man who tries to scramble backwards.

When he's done the man is sobbing, his suit in ruins, his chest bleeding. Reno's words are carved deeply into his flesh, one nipple erased completely under a random 'yo' tagged onto the end of the line. It reads; 'We got eyes an' ears everywhere, yo'. A simple message but Reno doesn't believe that a stupid fat fuck like Don Corneo would understand anything longer. The fact that Corneo had even attempted to go behind ShinRa's back to sell arms and info to Wutai was surprising in itself, like Tseng said, he was too stupid to think of stuff like that alone. Whoever gave him the idea, that was the dangerous one. Someone was moving under the radar, someone corrupting some of ShinRa's best assets. It was dangerous and both Veld and Tseng were working to the wire to find any trace of this mysterious Provocateur.


	7. The Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains mention of child abuse. It's not graphic, just a mention really, but just wanted to warn. In this you may think its strange that Reno's seemingly not bothered about selling his body for sex, but he's a kid. He's doing what he has to do to survive, even if that means doing disturbing things. It's literally the only life he knows so he's learnt to deal with it in his own (unhealthy) way. If you find it disturbing then that's exactly what I was aiming for. Because it is horrible. On the plus side, Veld kills the fucker who forces Reno to do the things he does and enjoys it. I will also point out that Reno acts a hell of a lot older than he is but that's because he's got no choice. If he spends all his time crying then he's never going to eat, he's never going to survive. He's been forced to grow up way too early.

They're all liars. The Turks are a department dependant upon falsities. Their lives are erased the second they're 'employed', even that process is unknown to the majority of the company. Those on the inside know that each case is different but one thing is usually the same for them all; they've all got special skill sets. There's something about each individual that makes them stand out, usually enough to cause rumours to spread. Veld is especially good at picking up on these rumours. One day he heard about a boy known only as 'The Shadow'. People described him as having dark hair and obviously Wutaiian features, he was called the shadow because he was a gun for hire. An assassin who always, without fail, killed his victims with a single shot between the eyes. He was such a good shot gang lords throughout the slums sought his skills. He was paid extortionate amounts of money to kill. Veld was curious so he went below into Sector Eight to discover more. He found the boy, following the rumours of where he usually hung out and was stunned by what he saw. He was a child. Couldn't have been more than eighteen, he was sitting in a bar and drinking sake from a steaming cup. He wore black from head to toe and had his hair pulled back from his forehead. As Veld approached warily he didn't even turn to look at him, only acknowledged his presence by lifting two fingers to halt him in his tracks. His gun is already out, despite the fact that he hadn't even seen the kid move. Veld smiles to himself.

“I'll give you three seconds to give me a reason why I should not kill you where you stand, sir.” the boy says, looking up at Veld from his sake cup. 

“I haven't seen anyone move like that for a long time.” Veld replies quietly, still smiling. He knows he's found his next protege, this boy reminds him too much of his ex-partner not to recruit him. “My name is Veld, I work for ShinRa.” The tip of the gun wavers only slightly but Veld takes the plunge. “I'm here on behalf of the Administrative Research Branch of General Affairs to offer you a job.”

“A job?” The boy frowns, a little wrinkle forming between his eyes where a small dark mark can be seen. Veld recognises it vaguely from some book on Wutai's customs, it was some religious thing. Was this boy a monk? What a strange thought. “I don't need a job, sir.” The boy stands up, tossing a few gil onto the counter and shrugging into a rather expensive coat. 

“It won't be long before they turn on you, you know.” Veld says just as the boy reaches the door, he feels him hesitate but doesn't look around at him. They stand there, back to back while the bar around them falls quiet as tension thickens. “Your skills are in high demand now but soon the slum lords' respect will turn to fear. I'm sure you're aware of what fear does to men?”

“What would you know about it? We've never met before.”

“No we've never met but I know you. They call you the Shadow, don't they? They say you can kill a man with god-like precision, you're a very skilled man. Some would say you've been blessed by the Gods.”

The boy shifts, obviously uneasy in such a public setting but then he stills. “Follow me.” He says, suddenly all business. 'Blessed by the Gods' rings a bell deep inside him, he despises the term but this man has his curiosity piqued. He straightens his coat and steps out into the street. Veld turns and follows after him, when he catches up the boy flicks up the collar of his coat but still doesn't meet his eyes. 

“What do I call you? Obviously 'Shadow' is not your real name.”

The boy hesitates, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He moves down a nearby alley, causing a few people to step out of his way as he goes by. A woman bows and greets him with a soft murmur, her Wutaiian accent almost too thick to understand the words. “My name is...Tseng. That's what my grandfather called me.”

“Tseng. Good.” Veld's smile widens, he's done a little background research but couldn't find out much about him. His past is as mysterious as they come, he'll admit he's intensely curious. Why would a Wutaiian refugee even consider working for the company that was in the process of destroying his home? What would even make a child desperate enough to flee Wutai and hide in the slums? Veld likes mysteries and he's determined to find answers to all his questions.

A few years later Veld hears of another potential candidate. There's a man of prodigious strength working security at some shitty club owned by gangsters in Junon. He's been known to shatter limbs without any effort at all. He's big and scary, of course rumours are bound to fly. So Veld finds him, he's working the door as he approaches. “Name?” The man asks, voice deep and hands clasped before him in an age-old pose of bouncers everywhere. 

“Veld.”

The man checks a list of names on a clipboard before shaking his bald head, “Not on here.” He says and dismisses Veld to tend to another person who wants to enter the club. When he realises Veld hasn't moved he cracks his knuckles threateningly, Veld can see the swollen joints caused by many fights. He's got bulging muscles, his neck thick and his eyes covered by sunglasses. “Go away old man or I'll break something.”

“Rude, I presume?” That makes the man hesitate, his mouth opens and shuts again and a frown creases his forehead. He doesn't answer though, his silence a threat all on its own. Luckily, Veld isn't a man who's easily cowed. “Rude, I'm here on behalf of the Administrative Research Branch of the General Affairs Department-”

“ShinRa.” Rude says, a single word that carries so much weight.

“Yes. I was wondering if you're available for a chat?”

The third time Veld finds someone who interests him is back in Midgar again. There's a kid who runs stolen goods for Gillespie, an old gangster and one of the few who remembers the names of the Sectors. He's slim, a runt but when Veld sees him run he's suitably impressed. He approaches this one with caution, the kid's no older than ten, he'll flee at the first hint of a threat. Veld sidles up to him and offers him a friendly smile, “Hello.” He offers a hand and the kid looks at it as if its going to bite him. “My name's Veld.”

“You wanna fuck, yo? I'm workin' another job, be off in an hour.” He says, sniffing and wiping his nose on the filthy sleeve of his jacket. Veld can see the gleam in his blue eyes, a weird greenish tint that tells him the kids high on something. His pupils are too large, he's way too skinny and obviously thinks Veld's a john. “You gotta wait.” He's wearing shorts, cut off jeans by the looks of them. His knees are scarred and dirty and he's covered in grazes, there's a smear of dirt and blood on one cheek and strange markings beneath his eyes. 

It's one of those times that forces Veld to re-evaluate his stance within the company, being forced to come face to face with the dark side of Midgar is always a shock to the system but he's never felt this sick before. This boy has obviously been forced to do things no child should ever do in order to survive, Veld knows he's got no living relatives, no one to look after him and protect him from the ghouls that lurk in the slums. It's hard to meet those stoned blue eyes but he forces himself to. He keeps his smile firmly in place and sinks down the wall, sitting on the dirty ground as the kid watches him with confusion. “Come, sit with me a moment.” He pats the dirt by his side and the kid shifts warily for a second before Veld digs in his pocket and produces a wrapped candy bar. The kid's eyes light up as if he's been given pure gold, he sits and takes the candy. Veld smiles as the kid looks up at him warily, uncertain suddenly if he should accept this kindness.

“Who are you, yo?” He asks.

“My name is Veld.” Veld begins, watching the kid lean back against the wall they're near and tear into the candy with relish. Obviously his wariness only extends a certain way before hunger wins out. “What's your name?”

The boy glances up at him, chocolate smeared around his lips as he chews and swallows. “Reno.” He answers around a mouthful. “Or...'least tha's wha' Gamps calls me, yo.”

“Gamps?”

“Yeah, the old man who took me in. Gillespie. My ma killed herself, yo.” The kid shrugs as if it doesn't bother him in the least, “Hung 'erself last year. Couldn' hack it no more, I guess. Well, Gamps looked out for us when she was alive, ya'know? I kinda owe him.”

“So you run stolen goods and whore yourself out?”

Reno shrugs carelessly, “Ain't got nothin' else worth anythin', i's tha' or starve.”

“I see. How would you feel if I were to offer you something better?”

Reno scoffs, licking chocolate off of his fingers. “Yeah, wha's better 'n' this?”

“A permanent place to live, a steady income and an education. I can give you a life, Reno. One that doesn't involve selling yourself to twisted people.”

Reno doesn't trust him, he doesn't like the offer. He stands, wipes his hands on his grimy jacket and shrugs. “Sorry, old man. I gotta work.” He makes to walk away but Veld's final offer brings him to an abrupt halt.

“I can kill the man who owns you. I can give you your freedom.” There's few things in his job that he truly enjoys anymore but putting a bullet through Gillesipe's head will always be one of the highlights.


	8. The Scars

They all have their own definitive set of scars. Veld's is in the most obvious place, a long jagged line down the right side of his face. Whenever Tseng looks at it, he feels guilty. The other he keeps hidden beneath the sleeve of his jacket and inside a glove. From the elbow down his arm is entirely metal, a top of the range prosthetic that works as smoothly as the original did but sometimes, late at night he can feel his fingers itch. He can still feel the smooth skin of his wife's face beneath a hand that no longer exists, he can still feel his daughters fingers clutched in his and it feels like he's dying over and over.

Reno's are scattered all over his lean body; he's got bullet wounds, marks from knives wielded by inexpert hands, a burn scar on his upper right thigh and a large, horrible looking scar that slashes across his stomach. He got that scar a few years into his life as a Turk, he was fifteen after completing his training (which came with an education to match that of Rufus ShinRa's). He returned to the car they were using on a mission, Rude just a few metres behind him; blood still fresh on his uniform. He opened the door and got into the passenger seat only to detonate an explosive. Rude was well out of range but he watched as Reno was fired across the empty parking lot like buck-shot. He hit a wall, slamming the back of his head against it. Rude ran to him, dropping to his knees as Reno collapsed. A part of the car door had embedded itself in Reno's lower abdomen. He nearly died that day and Rude constantly replays the memory over and over, wondering if he could have done something different. They were both incredibly lucky the bomb had been horribly made, amateurish wiring had halved the effects and Reno had ended up with an impressive scar instead of in tiny pieces all over the car park. 

Rude has a long scar over his pectoral muscles, it slices through his flesh like an exclamation point and ends just above his belly button. It looks far worse than the injury that had caused it, it only scarred so bad because Reno isn't a field medic and could only do so much with the basic kits they all carried for emergencies. It had bled a lot though and Reno had been crapping himself, Rude, however, had grinned at him as he downed a bottle of straight vodka while Reno shakily sutured the wound and cursed him under his breath. 

Tseng's scars are varied, he owns a nice set of impressive bullet wounds to match Reno's, he has several thick lines on his inner thighs but he never says where they came from if someone gets close enough to see them and ask. He's got a very thin, almost invisible scar surrounding his throat from a garrotte and a small brand on his right inner wrist. It's also something he never talks about and, if asked, he averts his eyes. Reno and Rude understand that sometimes the past is too painful and so never brought it up after their first curious questions. The brand was an insignia, a small eight-petalled Lotus flower.


End file.
